The Long Road Home
by A Hopeless Wanderer
Summary: After particularly bad missions, the team helps Steve pick up the pieces. Shameless whump and team bonding.
1. Sleep

**Kind of a cracky one-shot. Apologies for the lack of a climax! **

**Haha more to come tomorrow(: I'm aiming for at least 5 chapters total. **

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**Disclaimer: I own nothing... not even the Avengers on DVD. **

"Welcome back, sir."

Over two months living in Stark Tower and Steve Rogers _still_ wasn't used to Tony Stark's AI. The prospect of someone watching his every move made him feel uneasy, not to mention the fact that JARVIS wasn't even human being. But, slumped against the side of the rapidly-ascending elevator, Captain America could care less.

His suit was torn in a multitude of places, tattered and burned to the extent of probable replacement sometime in the near future. Blood had stopped trickling from the few gashes too deep to heal on the flight back, but there was deep maroon stains where the once crimson liquid had pooled around the wounds. All-in-all, Steve was a sight to behold. But, he had left missions in worse shape, so he denied the immediate medical attention offered— all he wanted now was to sleep.

Blinking against the fluorescence of elevator lighting, the Captain sluggishly leaned his head against the cool metal walling, counting his blessings once more that he was moments away from the sleep he had craved all week. It had been a relatively quick mission, only a week in Tibet to take down a small laboratory performing experiments on children.

However, it had been a sleepless seven days; not only because the mission required constant attention, but because the few times Steve had tried to close his eyes, all he saw was images of the children, hidden away in dark cages, their wide eyes begging him for help that hadn't been nearly quick enough.

Exhaustion was setting in, burning the Captain's eyes and weighing down his body. He needed to sleep. Steve was so tired that he felt like he could sleep for a hundred years- no pun intended, of course.

"Sir, the elevator has arrived at the floor you requested."

Steve thanked JARVIS under his breath, slowly lifting his head from the wall. The hallway briefly blurred out of his vision, elongating to appear unmanageably extended for him to pass through. One hand braced against the elevator opening as the super soldier righted himself with a groan.

There was a flurry of light and sound from the other end of the hall. "Cap? Is that you?" Clint was approaching him at a speed that Steve was incapable of matching at the moment. The archer was in his sleepwear, grey sweatpants dipping just low enough to expose his boxer briefs beneath the gap of his sleeveless top.

"Jeez, Cap, you look beat." And Steve felt beat, weak to the bone with exhaustion and grief for children who had seen more horrors than the soldier wanted to think about. But it was all he _could_ think about. Every cut and burn on his body throbbed as a thousand painful reminders.

Clint rested a hand on his arm, and Steve flinched, but did not pull away. "It's alright, Agent Barton," he muttered, peeling himself off of the wall; the formal title had slipped out as his brain number itself, reverting back after weeks of _goddamit Steve, we're living together, call us by our fucking names_ and the like.

But the archer did not release him. "C'mon Cap, let's get you to bed. Banner'll come up in a few. Rough mission?" WIthout responding, Steve appraised his colleague. Dressed for sleep, but fully awake and not appearing disheveled. _He was waiting up for me_. It was a tedious notion— he had been due back the day before, but stayed back to ensure that each and every child had been clothed, fed, and sent to safe locations authorized by SHIELD. _How long have they been waiting for me?_

The shorter man helped him into his room, but wouldn't allow him to collapse into bed as he so desired. "Wait until doc gets here. Then you can sleep." It sounded like too much work to Steve. Sleep sounded much nicer, easier to deal with. Sleep would bring him peace and quiet, and a lapse from the waking world, if only for a few hours.

He was so tired that it didn't matter if he dreamt of the children again.

Well, it did matter. But after over 70 hours of constant, waking movement, Steve would experience _all_ of his typical nightmares if it meant he could sleep.

Whether it had been minutes or mere seconds, Steve was startled form his half-conscious daze by a tap on the chin, flinching as his eyes met a sharp, bright light. "Hey, Cap," Bruce whispered, brushing a hand through the younger man's hair as he not-so-subtly tried to search his scalp for contusions. "How'd the mission go?"

Steve blinked slowly, looking up at Banner while he and Clint attempted to remove the upper part of his suit. "Mission was finished," he said, the words slurring as they tumbled from his mouth in one long sigh. He could feel fingers on his chest, palpitating the bruises and abrasions, but there was no pain. Only numbness.

There was an acute pressure on his midriff, and then _pain_. Pain that startled him from his stupor, waking him from his open-eyed sleep, if only for a brief moment. "Stop," he gasped, jerking back from the doctor's experienced touch. "Don't. Stop."

Bruce brushed his fingers lightly over the dark bruised marring Steve's ribcage. "Broken," he noted, "they'll need to be wrapped tomorrow morning, before they begin to set on their own." With Clint's assistance, Banner had already bandaged the major cuts and burns on their leader's torso. His legs were relatively unscathed, albeit muddy.

With one final hand to Steve's cheek, Bruce rotated his head, as to check for any final injuries. "Where was the mission, Steve?" Excluding the large bruise that stretched from Steve's ear to his jawline, and the cuts that littered his chin and neck, his face was alright.

"Tibet, mountains," he grumbled, finally falling back to bury his face in the pillows. "Lab, kids. Cages." His sentence was unstructured, but the words were enough for his teammates.

"Jesus," Clint said, following Bruce to stand in the doorway. "Well, you got the bad guys Cap. Rest easy." The doctor and the archer lingered momentarily, watching the exhaustion fully take over their leader.

Lying in bed, wearing only his spandex trousers (too tight for the other men to remove without also compromising the super soldier's dignity), Steve looked infinitely younger. The lines that usually creased his face were smooth, and for once, he looked his own age, rather than the thirty-or-so years that added on with the weight of his leadership.

"Sleep, Steve. You've earned it."


	2. Unjust Causes

**Chapter 2 is up(: thank you guys so much for the positive responses to chapter 1! Send along any requests or ideas, not just for this story, but for other one-shots or chains you want me to write. **

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There was blood pooling around his feet, but the tiny, five-foot kid was still grinning like a madman. A knife was buried to the hilt in his abdomen, but he took no notice. He merely kept on laughing.

The sound burned in Tony's ears. It echoed across the deserted clearing, which had turned into the Avenger's latest battlefield. They all stood knee-deep in prairie grass, the final ground of a week long chase to catch one Mr. Calvin Woods. Calvin, who now stood before five-sixths of the superhero team (Hulk had been deemed an unnecessary addition to the current mission), his grin wide enough to expose stained, bloody teeth— the result of taking Thor's hammer to the mouth.

"You think you're special. All of y'all do. _But I am better_. I can feel the power of the rising generation. _It flows within me_. But my given form is weak, it needs sustenance," Woods appeared to be babbling now, his eyes glinting with traces of both homicidal rage and immeasurable greed.

Captain America, cowl donned and shield extended, stepped forward. "What are you suggesting, Calvin?" The young man, who couldn't be more than 20 years old, was making the Captain feel very uneasy. "Calvin, you killed thirteen people yesterday in an attempt to enter Stark Tower on Monday. Thirteen innocent men and women. We will not allow you to escape. This is your last chance to come peacefully."

"Captain, Captain, _Captain_," Woods chortled. One of his hands was curled protectively around his knife wound, while the other waved frantically as he spoke; they were both covered in blood. "I want nothing _but_ peace. And only you can give it to me."

No one followed.

"The only way the Captain can give you peace is if he knocks the head off of your shoulders," Tony said, the cadence of his voice rising and falling with a metallic tone through the mask of his suit.

As more blood spilled onto the dew-laiden grass, Calvin Woods began to look more and more frantic. A sickening grin was plastered on his face, and his eyes jerked wildly from Avenger to Avenger, before they settled on Steve once more.

"He has been selfish, the Captain has. Holding back what he could so easily give out to us all. He can help rebuild, help further the cause and the rising movement."

Puzzled looks were shared between the five Avengers. "Calvin, you aren't making sense. Surrender now, and I will try my hardest to help you, I really will. Stop this madness, please. We will not allow you to hurt anyone else." Cap's eyes shone with worry, not for the boy per say, but for the damage the soldier knew the kid was capable of inflicting.

"Captain America was supposed to be the first of _many_. _He _has the power to create the next generation of heroes_._ It's in his _blood_. All I need is your blood, man... Then, we can restore the world to what it once had the potential to be." Calvin paused for a few moments, panting now over the pain of his wound.

What happened next would haunt the nightmares of every single person in that field for days. Weeks even.

Wood's eyes rolled back into his head, exposing the pearly white surface underneath. His arm raised, and his grin widened. "_Heil Hitler! A better world!_" He shouted, and raised the other arm up.

His gun went off before any of the five superheroes could react. Three gunshots, within milliseconds of each other, echoed from the maniac's gun, shooting off into the clearing. Each loud bang was accompanied by screaming, shouting, yelling.

The fourth gunshot was a blessing. It rang out only instants after the lone enemy in the clearing had emptied part of his chamber. With a final spurt of blood and newly-formed hole between his eyes, Calvin Woods tumbled gracelessly onto the blood-stained grass.

No one moved to his body. The five Avengers looked from one to the other, momentarily panicking at the thought of a stray bullet taking more than one life away that afternoon.

However, everyone was fine.

After wordlessly checking over his teammates, Steve felt ill. Everyone was alright, and for that, he thanked God. But his head was spinning, and his stomach twisted into a painful knot.

"Steve?" The others were facing him now, facing their leader with looks of both concern and _what-the-hell-just-happened_. But all Steve could see was Red Skull, all those years ago, his eyes gleaming as he spoke of his own greatness, face illuminated by the glow of the tesseract.

"They told me," the super soldier said shakily, raising his head to face his other four team mates, "when I awoke, they told me that the world had changed." Steve motioned with a limp hand. "This isn't change. This is regression of societal ideas. This exactly what was happening seventy years ago. Nothing has changed." Captain America buried his head in his hands, smoothing their heels over his eyelids.

Tony unhooked his mask, holding it under the crook of his arm. "Just because one maniac kills a bunch of people, doesn't mean that society hasn't changed, Cap. Things are different. The Nazis were beaten seven decades ago."

Steve shook his head. "But if one kid could have those ideals, and kill over a dozen people to obtain what he desired, than what does that change matter? People are dead whether society has furthered itself or not. And if people are still dying over these unjust causes, than I don't think we've come as far as you'd care to believe, Tony." He let out a shaky breath.

"You're right, Cap. People are still dying over the same bullshit that they were dying over a hundred years ago; two hundred years ago, even. But we've come so fucking far. And for every person who dies for a fucked up cause, or who dies at the hands of those who believe in the fucked up cause, there are ten people who are trying to make the world a better place," Clint said, jaw clenching as he allows himself the brief thought of Phil Coulson, now three-months post-mortem.

Tony lightly pushed Steve's shoulder with an iron-clad finger. "That's what we're here to do— make the world a better place, and kill all of those who try and stop us!"

And for a brief, fleeting moment, Steve believed him.

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	3. Inferno (Part 1)

**I AM SO SORRY FOR THE DELAY OH MY GOSH. **

**The response to this story has been overwhelming. Thank you all so much for your love 3 **

**This chapter is on request, and will be part 1 of 2 (or 3?) of this section of the story. **

**Also, UPDATE: I've decided to change this, from a 5-shot into a ?-shot. Stay tuned, folks! More chapters to come. **

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The air had turned black. Tangibly black, with every lungful singing the hairs in his nostrils. Flashes of red periodically burst through the darkness, illuminating the thick atmosphere before it became dark once more.

_"Jeezus, Clint, leave some popcorn for the rest of us, will ya?" Tony snatched the bowl from the archer's hands, greedily shoving a handful into his open mouth. _

_Natasha rolled her eyes. Six months of movie night in the Tower, and nothing had changed. It was the same drill every week- Tony chose the movie, Bruce made the drinks, and Clint hogged the popcorn._

As he approached the building, the air became impossibly thicker. Smoke was pouring from the windows, clogging the city street below. But he had to continue.

Failure was not an option.

_It was the first night in a long while that only four Avengers were there for the movie. Thor had left the previous evening for a brief trip to Asgard, as they awaited Loki's sentencing. He promised to return after his brother saw justice. _

_Steve, on the other hand, had not been seen since the morning. A shouting match, the first of its kind since he moved into the Tower, occurred between the super soldier and the head of the house. The row was similar to those of the early days on the helicarrier, and Steve had left in a fit anger._

"Sir, you can't go back in there," a firefighter called, rushing over to the man making his way towards the burning building. However, the man paid the officer no mind. The closer he got to the entrance, the hotter it became, but he never stopped moving forward.

"_Shit!"_ He heard one officer yell, "_That guy is going in. It's a suicide mission."_ But no one stopped him, because they all knew who he was. They couldn't possibly stop him now.

_They had fought over the coffee maker._

_In retrospect, the argument sounded extraordinarily stupid. Steve had been attempting to use the small machine, but Stark had lost patience waiting for his coffee, as the Man Out of Time fumbled with the buttons (and the beans, and the water, and the filter). _

_So, Stark had criticized Steve, very loudly, about his coffee skills... and maybe a remark or two about the Capsicle's poor 21st Century adjustment. But one remark spiraled into several, and soon Steve was snapping back with insults of his own. _

_Needless to say, Tony didn't stop the Cap when he stormed out, too angry to stay in the Tower. _

The staircase was to the left. He knew that. To the left, and past the reception desk. He rushed into the stairwell, mentally calculating the impending journey as he glanced upwards.

Inside, the air was just barely cleaner than it was around the building, but it was all he needed. He started the fifty-five story climb with shaking legs and extreme determination. Using all of the power within him, he sprinted.

_"Has anyone talked to him?" Natasha asked cooly. It was noon, and there was no sign of Steve. _

_Bruce sighed. "He is a grown man. Don't worry— he'll come back once he's cooled off." But there was a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, and he couldn't shake it off. _

At flight 47, he was running off of pure adrenaline. Sure, he was supposed to be a superior human being; but that only brought him so far. His breath hitched in his throat, which was constricting with the thick smoke around him. But he needed to get them. He couldn't stop now.

_Somewhere around six o'clock, Pepper made her way into the communal kitchen, and began to make the team dinner. Home-cooked meals weren't uncommon around the Tower, but they weren't exactly regular, either. The aroma of baking chicken drew even Tony from the depths of his workshop. _

_However, Steve was still nowhere to be found._

A broad shoulder busted down the door, and was greeted by flames. They licked the walls, creating a hellish inferno that lead to the main area. The man coughed once, twice, choking on the smoke as he rushed down the hallway.

There they were.

All five of them, unconscious and sprawled across the living area. no one moved. Flames were licking at the edge of the couch, and he beat them out with his shoe. There were two women, which were his first priority— he was an old-fashioned man.

However, he wouldn't be able to make it in two trips to reach the other three men, and time was running short. The flames around the room made even another trip look impossible.

But then, it hit him.

Within a split second, the broad-shouldered man was kneeling over the thinnest man in the room, whose chest glowed blue in the darkness. Trembling fingers felt around, making their way to the opposite man's wrist.

He exhaled in a long cough when he finally found it.

A button, concealed on the inner side of a metallic gold bracelet.

With one press, the blue-glowing man was incased in a glorious suit of armor. "_JARVIS_!" The conscious man cried, praying that the machine within the suit was still functioning, despite the obvious destruction of it's counterpart within the walls.

After a moment, the suit began to glow, turning on with a blessed click.

"_JARVIS, take Tony out of here!" _

He lifted the older man, suit and all, and kicked out the nearest window, pushing him out the window. Running on autopilot, the suit flew, rather than fell the fifty-odd stories down.

Grabbing the two women, one over each shoulder, he carried their unconscious bodies into the stairwell. The flames had yet to make it past the door, and the man said a prayer under his breath. Repeating the motion for the two remaining men, he brought them to the undamaged staircase, before lifting the two women once more.

With renewed determination, Steve Rogers began a rapid, fifty-five story descent.

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	4. Inferno (Part 2)

**Hey guys! Here is Part 2 of 3(?) in the Inferno series. Hope you guys enjoy it!  
THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR ALL OF THE POSITIVE RESPONSES! I love you so much 3 you guys are seriously the best, and I'm so glad you've enjoyed the stories thusfar. I write for you, and your enjoyment, so let me know if it is to you standards, and what you want to read about next! **

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The first responders barely had time to register the advancing form before the man started screaming, begging them for help. He placed two prone bodies onto the debris-covered sidewalk, before wildly gesturing to the building.

"I have to go back in!" Steve shouted over the commotion, "the other two-they're in there. Have to get them!" His voice was hoarse, and it was a miracle that he was still breathing with the amount of smoke he had inhaled.

One of the fire chiefs moves to stop Steve, but as paramedics swarmed the two female bodies on the ground, the Captain retreated back into the building at a sprint.

_After they had enjoyed a warm meal, courtesy of the Stark Industries CEO, the team had traveled downstairs to watch a movie in the Tower's theater. Only ten flights down from the communal area, Tony had spared no expense in constructing a room to relax. The theater was equipped with a large screen, a snack bar, and about a dozen plush chairs to get comfortable in. _

Each step was becoming harder. The adrenaline, while still pumping through Steve's veins, was lessening. His labored pants echoed throughout the staircase as he climbed upwards and upwards.

_"Dude, can we use the old-fashioned pop corn maker again? The stuff tasted great last week!" Clint looked eager, so Tony pulled out the machine, pouring the oil and kernels in without a second glance. _

_They enjoyed the movie, an old Wayne Western that Tony was particularly fond of. When it ended, Clint took a bucket of popcorn up, and the four Avengers— plus Pepper, of course— made their way back up to the communal den on the fifty-fifth floor. _

_No one remembered to unplug the popcorn machine._

Outside, the fire crew was working hard to stabilize the flames, while the paramedics worked hard to save the fire's victims. JARVIS had gotten Tony to safety, the backup suit in Tony's bracelet flying on autopilot until the billionaire made it to the ground. Both Pepper and Natasha, as well as Tony, were given rescue-breathing on the scene, before ambulances took them to the hospital.

Ten minutes after Captain America had rushed back into the building, the chaos and madness thickened within the area. A loud shatter resonated throughout the city. People on the ground watched a cloud of melting glass rain down on the sidewalk (thankfully within the blocked perimeter around the scene), and within it, a large, green blur.

A scorched and enraged Hulk landed on the ground, leaving a crater in the pavement. His hair was singed, green skin blackened, but he was otherwise unharmed. However, that wasn't what caught the attention of the crew on the ground. It was the body Hulk was cradling.

"_We've got another one!_" Someone shouted, "_and the Hulk!_"

Meanwhile, Steve was struggling up the fifty-fourth floor. The wheezes emanating from his chest reminded him ever-so-sorely of the days of his youth, and the asthma he lived with. When he rounded the corner, however, his problems multiplied.

_They weren't on the landing._

He had left Clint and Bruce laying at the top of the stairs, but through the smoke, he couldn't see anyone. Just a large hole in the wall.

In a panic, Steve rushed up the last set of stairs, bursting through the hole into the living area. Not twenty minutes ago, when he found the team, the flames had been bad. Now, the entire room was engulfed. The Captain's heart caught in his throat (or maybe it was smoke) as he surveyed the room. _OhmyGodIleftthemherethey'redeadIlefthemIhadtochose betweenthemandnowthey'redoneandIdiditIwastheoneIki lledthemthisismyfaultohmyGodohGodohGod. _

With a desperate sob, Steve rushed to the kitchen, which was almost completely burned out. Flames licked at his shoes, but he didn't care. His teammates were here, somewhere, and if the Army taught him anything, it was that you _never leave men behind._

The smoke was beginning to really affect the soldier. He could barely breathe, and his mind was racing— although part of that was due to the fact that two of his teammates were in mortal peril, and he couldn't help them.

Through the haze, Steve struggle to see; he struggled to _think_. One had met the wall as he attempted to steady himself, but he was met with flames. He staggered once, twice, desperately trying to find Bruce and Clint, but with one wrong footing, the weakened floorboards broke beneath him.

And then, Steve Rodgers fell through the floor, a fiery inferno roaring beneath him.

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